Bittersweet
by Persephone's flower
Summary: Madge always loved strawberries because they were bitter-sweet: just like falling in love. A mysterious word which beholds a secret meaning. T due to paranoia.


**A/N: **Okay, so, I always was a Peeta/Katniss fan, and I always believed that Madge and Gale would end up together. I was so excited; I read it over once when I was done, then published it. So, since I love this pairing (Madge/Gale) so much, I decided to do a one shot on it. This is my first attempt on this particular pairing, and I found that I enjoyed writing this. I know this isn't nearly as good as Astoria Goode's or Medea Smyke's fantastical writing, but I hope you enjoy reading it anyways.

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_Bittersweet  
You're gonna be the death of me  
I don't want you but I need you  
I love you and hate you at the very same time  
Bittersweet_  
-Bittersweet, Kanye West

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_**~One. I.~**_

* * *

Her family has always loved strawberries, each having acquired a sort of fondness for these little fruits. Even her mother, on the best of days, will come down to the kitchen from her room and enjoy a couple of strawberries.

She, herself loves strawberries, because they are bittersweet.

The bitter surprise when a person first bites into the strawberry, recoiling at the unexpected taste. The sour tang of a strawberry as she rolls it around in her mouth deliciously, savoring it. The sweetness of the strawberry that follows shortly after. The burst of liquid that escapes from the fruit, the sweet juice that satisfies her thirst, her parched lips.

Bittersweet. Like falling in love.

* * *

_**~Two. II.~**_

* * *

She never expected for it to happen. Gale Hawthorne always seemed like a dangerous type of boy, and she never liked danger, so she keeps her distance. He's the type of boy every girl at their school talks about. Gossips about. Sighs about. Swoons about.

His gray seam eyes are large, but demanding, suspicious, calculating, and indifferent, swirling, depth-filled, endless pools.

His body is always tense, his muscles stiff, hardened, covered partially with soot from work in the mine, which of course, only makes girls fall even more for him.

His tousled black hair, windblown. His long, thick, lashes shielding his eyes, covering up his expression.

She hates how she used be above these girls. How she used to be able to laugh silently at them, lovestruck as they were, with a boy who was already hopelessly in love with his childhood friend. The fact that from the start, these brainless girls knew they never had a chance, but still pined after him anyways.

She despises how she can no longer look down upon these girls, because it would be considered hypocrisy, and she knows that they would only point fingers back at her, daring her to contradict something she just can't.

Because, now, she thinks, bitterly, she is one of those girls.

* * *

_**~ Three. III. ~**_

* * *

To him, she was always just the girl that bought his strawberries: nothing less, nothing more.

Even when she dressed up, putting on a white frock dress, tying her golden curls up with a ribbon, getting dolled up for the reaping day, he merely notices what a pretty girl she is. But other than that, she means nothing to him.

She is no Katniss Everdeen, and she will never be. He has always loved Katniss. And up until the day he let Katniss go into the Games, one of the biggest decisions he regrets, he was pretty sure she felt the same way. He always thought they would end up together. In a happy family. Having children, delving into the wild as a pair to help their family survive.

One factor causes that to change. The male tribute from District Twelve. The baker's son. Peeta Mellark. Their relationship that developed in the Games. Their supposed undying love for each other. And as he watches, on the television in the central square that has been set up recently, he can only clench his fist in jealousy as Katniss tells everyone watching she is forever in love with the boy.

It's fake, he thinks, repeating the few words, a litany, over and over in his mind. But somewhere deep inside himself, he knows that she has always been a horrible liar and pretender, and after a few times of thinking these two words, he realizes with suppressed reluctance: _it's not fake at all._

He starts having second premonitions about how he feels with her. Because, he finally understands, the girl he first met in the woods a while ago has changed. Catnip is not the same.

* * *

_**~Four. IV.~**_

* * *

She wants to get closer to him. Not for personal reasons, of course, she knows it is impossible he will never return her feelings. But she wants to understand the mystery, the enigma, the puzzle that makes up Gale Hawthorne.

So she decides to make a plan.

The next time he shows up at her doorstep, they exchange their normal goods: he with the strawberries, and she, with the coins, but before he leaves, she calls out his name.

Confused, he turns back, listening intently as she requests to go hunting with him, saying she wants to learn. He throws his head back in mocking laughter, but her request stands firm, and before he leaves, she has convinced him to take her hunting and finding strawberries the next day.

She knows he doesn't understand her objective, and she knows what he means. After all, why would the mayor's daughter, of all people, have to worry about her future? Everyone in District Twelve believes she has everything she needs. A luxury life.

It is only she herself, that dares to oppose.

She needs a friend.

* * *

_**~Five. V. ~**_

* * *

They have been hunting and picking fruits for weeks now. To his surprise, he notices she learns surprisingly fast. She catches on quickly. Already, she knows how to do things it took him more than two months to perfect.

He notices many other things about her, too. The way her blond curls look like spun gold when the sun hits them perfectly. Her complete willingness to listen attentively to whatever he has to say. Her absolute refusal to give up. Her independence, despite her constant impression of fragility. The way her blue eyes flicker like flames, endlessly. He admires her.

And within him, new feelings have awoken, small seeds planting themselves, pitting themselves, forming a foundation. She is no longer just the girl who buys his strawberries. She now has a name.

She is Madge.

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_**~Six. VI. ~**_

* * *

She has never seen so many before, multiple clusters hanging off a bush, like a water drop dripping from a tap. There are ones red as blood. There are scarlet bright strawberries, blinding her eyes. There are small, yellowish peach colored ones, yet to be fully developed.

It all depends how you like them, he points out to her, and she nods thoughtfully.

He shows her the large, crimson red blood colored strawberries, the sweetest of the bunch, his personal favorite, but she frowns in disapproval. He convinces her to try them, and she does, but as expected, they are not for her taste.

They are too sweet, she explains to him.

She lets her eyes travel over the many bushes, until she finds a bush that has scarlet strawberries, with tinges of yellow here and there. She picks one off the bush, and she bites it, testing its taste. She smiles in approval, and he looks strangely at her, picking one off and trying it. He shudders, recoiling at the bitter taste.

In confusion, he asks her why she likes these strawberries. They are not overly sweet, but bitter. There is nothing special about them. Why on earth would someone want these?

She looks him in the eyes, smiling. It is time for the teacher to become the student, and the student to become a teacher.

They are bittersweet. There are good parts, but there are bitter parts. Both tastes balance each other out. She wonders to herself whether he has made any other connection, any implications that she has tried to give. But she supposes not. After all, what would a girl's word mean to someone like him?

* * *

_**~ Seven. VII.~**_

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So they're sitting there, just eating strawberries, basking in the warmth of the sun, trying to absorb some of the temporary heat it is willing to give. She looks at him intently, after finishing her little speech, staring at him for a moment longer, and he tries to decipher whether there is a double meaning towards whatever she is trying to say.

He strains, feeling his eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, thinking harder then he has ever done for such a long time, even comparatively to school, but he can't come up with anything, so he gives up. Just like that.

And in one unexpected sweep, he makes the rash decision to kiss her. Her lips are soft for a moment as she accepts the kiss, cold, tasting like strawberries, the sweetness still on the tip of her tongue, but then her mouth hardens, settling into a thin line, and she pushes him away.

Dazed, he gets to his feet and demands to know what is wrong. But he knows the answer before she says it.

Katniss. Her lips move. She was watching along with everyone in the district, in the plaza, after all, when Katniss was sharing the story of Prim's goat, and when she instigated a kiss with Peeta. She, of all people, knows he isn't happy. At all.

What about her? His voice is agitated.

She tells him what the problem is. He's kissing her like he's kissing Katniss.

He knows it's true. He can feel the hungriness, the desperation, the feeling, from the kiss, the waves that her brain has received.

So he asks her what the problem with that is. Because he doesn't see anything wrong with it. He should be able to kiss her anyway he likes, shouldn't he?

Her eyes seem to shatter into a million shards of glass, her blue eyes frosting over. Her lips are quivering, her blond curls trembling ever so slightly, and she seems like she's trying not to cry. Her eyes, azure blue as flames, seem to be going out, instead, pooling with water at the edges.

She says coldly, shedding her emotion, that she is not Katniss. That she is Madge.

He knows she is Madge, he argues with her.

Then she says something, asking him to tell her, to her face, looking into her eyes, that he loves her; Madge, as a individual person, the way she is, not Madge; a tool to get revenge on Katniss. She dares him to, and he can hear her heartbreak in the sound of her voice as it rings out through the otherwise peaceful meadow.

He can't say anything, because he knows she is right. For everything he is, he cannot bear to lie to her. So he remains silent. So she looks at him one last time, then turns around, without any more fleeting glances, escaping into the distance, going back to her home. She doesn't bother to take her strawberries.

And Gale can do nothing but watch her go.

* * *

_**~Eight. VIII.~**_

* * *

She can't remember the last time she's ever felt so panicked. Her father has just informed her about the whipping from the peace-keeper, and she's trying to think properly, though the only thing her mind can process is Gale.

Even though he has hurt her, she still cares about him deeply, and her heart is pounding away, counting the ticking of seconds, minutes, even, as she races up the stairs and digs through her mother's medicine. Eventually finding what she wants, she sighs in relief, calming down, but just a bit, knowing her job is not complete.

Once her father goes to talk to her mother in private, settling her down in bed for the night, comforting her headaches, Madge sneaks out, grabbing her winter coat and hat, snuggling the medicine inside her jacket. She heads to Katniss Everdeen's house, where she knows he'll always be.

Her premonitions are correct, and as a door opens, she sees the face of Haymitch Abernathy, mentor of the District Twelve tributes, and Peeta Mellark. She can hear Katniss pleading with her mother to give Gale more painkillers, almost in tears, and most of all, Gale's moans of pain.

She's gotten there just in time, and she hands the medicine over, where the two males accept it cautiously. Then she runs away. Because the pain of hearing his voice, the pain of thinking of him is too great to bear. And she knows no medicine will be able to make it easier.

* * *

_**~ Nine. IX.~**_

* * *

She'd never thought he'd reply back. The next morning, she's at the table, eating breakfast, and her dad is on the way out the door to go to work.

He comes back in, looking entirely befuddled. He tells Madge that on the doorstep, someone has dropped something off for her. And he lifts up a giant, nicely wrapped basket, with a white bow tie ribbon, similar to the one she wears on reaping day.

Madge pulls it close to her, and wishes her father a good day. Still looking lost, confused, and not wanting to leave, he unwillingly leaves their dwelling, telling Madge to take good care of her mother. Then, when she hears the door shut with a bang, she unwraps the package, finding exactly what she expected to find.

Strawberries. She pops one in her mouth and swallows, her taste buds as she figures out they are the type she favors. Exactly how she likes them.

And she knows he has finally realized what she meant that day in the meadow. He has finally discovered her hidden meaning behind her bitter strawberries. He knows exactly what she was talking about. Not only is the gift a symbol of understanding, she realizes it is an apology. For everything that has happened these past few weeks.

She eats one more strawberry.

Then she opens up the door, the breeze flying in. It's a lovely day. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and the grass is green as ever. It's like it never snowed a storm last night at all. The sign of a new start. Of new beginnings. Of washing away old mistakes, a starting anew. A fresh start to everything in the future.

There will be obstacles in the way, that goes without saying, but she doesn't care. She is no longer afraid, she no longer minds. Through it all, they will be together. Gale and Madge. Madge and Gale. It has a certain ring to it.

Love is bittersweet. It can be the sweetest at times, the most beloved, the best, the top of the world, but it can be bad, bitter and sour as a premature strawberry. But it is the bad; the sourness, that helps the good to be at the fullest of potential.

They balance each other out, they strengthen each other. One is never one without another.

So Madge scribbles down a hasty note to her mother explaining where she is going, and she inhales a deep breath.

Then her mouth curves up into a wide smile. She grabs her scarf, which billows out in the wind, wrapping it around her neck, and she runs out into the open, away from her home, rushing out to reach her destination. Where she knows he will be waiting.


End file.
